The Beautiful and Entirely Illegal Tale of Methdancer

“Welp, gotta do this shit again,” Celestia grumbled, pouring herself some coffee. Thinking it over for a moment, she added a few shots of vodka to her cup. Throwing away the cup of coffee, she downed the entire bottle of vodka in three gulps and turned towards the balcony to do her daily job of raising the sun.

The sun rose just like it did everyday, hammering the constant monotony into Princess Celestia’s head like bag of hammers.

“I’m sick of this crap,” Celestia moaned to herself as she exerted the necessary magic needed to raise the sun into the sky. The radio nearby played a cheerful tune.

“Throw your arms around someone (throw your arms around someone), maybe spread a little love...”

Celestia glared at the radio.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Down in the Canterlot slums, Methdancer awoke inside her cardboard box when a smashed radio fell from somewhere up in the heavens and killed one of her fellow crack whores, who was sleeping quite close to her.

“Shit, it’s the fuzz!” Methdancer screamed.

“The fuzz?” One of the whores asked, scared.

“Yeah! They got Cindy with one of their crazy machines!”

The other whore sighed in relief. “Oh, was that all? Good, I hated that bitch.”

The other whores, who had awoken in the pack-like nature that is of the methamphetamine prostitute, all chittered and chattered to each other relieved now that the potential danger was over.

“Yo, Methdancer!” came a deep voice. “What the fuck is going on?”

Methdancer looked over to see her pimp Jerome, a large beefy zebra adorned with a large purple king’s cloak on his back. The cloak was studded with multiple jems of varying fakeness, and Jerome were the Pimp Standard Issue Pimp Monocle 3000™.

“Yes, Baby Daddy?” In an effort to demean the meth whores and to distract from his tiny penis, Jerome made them all call him their “baby daddy”.

“I need you to go and scope for some customers, just like the rest of the meth whores! I’m tired of you never doing anything and just lazing about or going to that stupid dentist.”

Methdancer scowled. “Excuse me for wanting good teeth unlike the rest of these whores.”

“You’re a meth whore! Nopony cares about your teeth! At all! If they’re coming to you for sex, that means they literally have NO OTHER OPTION! They obviously aren’t gonna be caring about your teeth!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I hope I get one who doesn’t have too bad of teeth,” Little Pickle said, his teeth chattering.

“Son, they’re meth whores. They all have bad teeth, don’t kid yourself,” his father, Patriotic Ego, said to him. “And today is the day you’re gonna lose your virginity to one of them. You’re gonna go all the way, son, whether you like it or not!”

Little Pickle shook a bit, obviously very nervous. “But I’ve never even has a girlfriend! I don’t know what to do!”

Patriotic Ego rolled his eyes. “I know! That’s why it’s a disgrace. Fourteen years old and you’ve never even had a girlfriend!”

“Um, I’m actually twelve—”

Ego ignored this. “So, you’re gonna have to pick from one of the lovely ladies in this here brothel, located in the nicest slum in Canterlot!”

“But in sex education, we learned that prostitutes and loose mares have STD’s,” Little Pickle stammered.

“Well, no son of mine is using birth control! That’s not how our family linage works, we stallions of your bloodline do it raw, all the way!”

“Is that why you and mom are both twenty-three?”

Ego chose to ignore this too. “Now, stop your bitching, and get into that brothel and sex up a meth whore!”

Patriotic Ego bumped his quaking young child on the rump, sending him sliding across the scuzzy ground right up to the gates of the brothel. A sign that stated “Jerome’s Top Quality Meth Whores” hung on the side of the gate, a few letters missing. Little Pickle gulped nervously.

“Well... if it’ll make my dad proud...” the colt lifted a small hood, terrified, up to the gate. He knock quickly a few times, then withdrew it hastily.

There was some scuffled noises, and the gate opened a small bit. Little Pickle looked in through the crack, only to have a sword nearly impale him right through his forehead.

“You the guard?” asked a gruff, deep, zebra voice.

“N-no!” Little Pickle nearly pissed himself right then and there.

“Oh. Well, if you see him, tell him that his usual whore Cindy was killed earlier today. You here to make an appointment with one of our, erm, ladies?”

The foal nodded, and the gate creaked open. “You bust some uteruses, boy!” yelled his dad encouragingly from a safe distance behind him. Little Pickle bit back the need to tell his dad that actual anatomy didn’t work the way that it did in his hentai.

The guard was in fact a zebra, and a rather well endowed one. His heavy swarthy balls swung around, and his semi-erect penis also dangled romantically.

“Bitch, don’t stare. You’d get a hard one if you watched ponies fuck meth whores all day,” the zebra told the curious foal.

“S-sorry...” Little Pickle, however, caught himself stealing more glances at the guard’s parts more often then his father would’ve liked. To tell the truth, he always liked penis a bit more...

“Alright, take any you want.” The two had entered a courtyard of sorts, with a bunch of cardboard boxes laying around to and fro. Meth whores of all sorts lay around in puddles of varying bodily fluids. Pegasi, earth pony, zebra, unicorn; Little Pickle saw them all laying before him, and any were to be his for the right price.

Those who weren’t in a puddles of fluids were doing drugs. And just because the sign said “meth whores” didn’t mean that other drugs were off limits. Far from it, quite obviously, as needles, pipes, and tablets were being passed around like cheap whores. Which was rather appropriate, considering the context.

Pickle wasn’t sure which one he wanted to take. There were so many and all of them were equally... available.

Then, he saw her. It was something about he frazzle, dark grey mane that was missing in huge patches all along her head, her frail looking horn, he wide staring eyes... and her perfect teeth! All the other ones had disgusting, horrible, yellow, cracked, nasty teeth. This one looked like she actually gave a damn about oral hygiene!

“Yes,” he said, feeling giddy and somewhat more confident. “I’ll take that one!”

“Methdancer?” the zebra asked in surprise. “Well, okay kid...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Methdancer scowled. Normally, Jerome was less of a tightass. What was with him lately? It’s not like he owned them!

“Oh wait,” Methdancer said as she remembered that Jerome did in fact own them. “Well, he’s still being a jackass. Someone should pop a cap in his loser as, the dumbass.” Methdancer’s favorite word was, predictably, “Meth”. Followed closely by “Ass”.

Methdancer wasn’t completely powerless. She was a young independent mare, after all. So, she slipped out of the crack between two buildings, the only was to leave Jerome’s Top Quality Meth Whores without using the gate. Or flying. Oddly, none of the pegasi tried to escape that way. Like, the courtyard was fully exposed to the sky. And it wasn’t like Jerome broke or clipped the wings of the pegasi or anything. They just didn’t fly out. God damn, they are fucking stupid.

Methdancer was now out in the wonderful ghetto of Canterlot, aptly named “Happy Valley”. She looked around, smile showing off her surprisingly well-kept teeth.

Prancing around, she suddenly felt the need to burst into song, as ponies in Equestria often did. Normally, this urge was alleviated in Canterlot, but how do you think that happened? Well, the reason singing is so prevalent in Equestria is because due to some science bullshit I don’t have time to explain, Patrick Stump’s fart all end up in Equestria. As everyone knows, a singer gains his or her power from their digestive track, so inhaling a singer’s farts, especially one as amazing and sexy as Patrick Stump’s, gives you the urge to sing. Celestia had all of the gas be diverted to the slums of Canterlot, which also leached into the ground water, spreading all through Equestria. Like any gas, including oxygen, the farts were also poisonous, so it cut the life expectancy of anyone who didn’t live in the non-slummy parts of Canterlot’s city to live to half their expected age. The further you are away from the gas, the longer you live, which explains Celestia’s long lifespan, and why Luna didn’t age while on the moon. Isn’t science fascinating?

Anyway, Methdancer began to sing the song of her people for anyone in Happy Valley to hear.

“Oh! What a beautiful day to be a whore!

My pimp’s a dick, and I’m not sure if I can take it anymore!

I want to grab his meaty balls and dunk them in oil,

Fry them up, and watch him recoil!

I’ll enjoy them slightly sautéed!

Or maybe even boiled!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU DAMN METH WHORE!” shouted a nearby three year old.

Methdancer pouted. These philistines obviously did not enjoy the superior talents of her singing. They were all just jealous.

Methdancer thought to herself for a moment. Her one ticket out of her was probably going to be on her singing talents. If a famous musician ever game back to her brothel, she would showcase her talents to them and be able to get out of this hellhole at last.

“I knew I should have sang to Kurt Coltmane instead of sucking him off,” Methdancer grumbled in regret. Ah, that was all in the past anyway. Besides, the guy would be back, most likely. Although she hadn’t heard anything about him since April. Normally the guy was all over the news.

Spending no more time on thinking about that stupid thing she was thinking about ten seconds ago, Methdancer hoped and bounced back to the space between the two houses. She had spent enough time away from the brothel as it was, it was time for her to start using her money maker to money some make.

Unfortunately, even someone as withered and thin as she had trouble squeezing through the cracks of the buildings. She wiggled and squirmed, but it was certain; she was stuck.

Jerome was gonna be so pissed! Out of fear, Methdancer began to sweat iodine. Having consumed so much meth, her body tended to produce individual ingredients from time to time.

Hearing little hoof steps from behind her, she called out for help in a polite and dignified manner, as is the way of the meth whore. “Yo! Whoever’s over there, can you give my ass a push?”

The hoofbeats stopped, and then resumed. To Methdancer’s delight, they were advancing towards her.

“Um, are you okay, Miss?” the voice was distinctly feminine, and sounded quite young. She was guessing that a young filly had probably come to her rescue.

“Yes, sweetie,” Methdancer said in a sweet tone. “Can you push on my butt until I slide through this alley here?”

There was a silence, then the filly spoke again. “Well, alright...”

Methdancer waited patiently for the filly to start pushing. Her eyes widened as the small hooves pressed up against her bony rump. They felt so good... this filly’s cutie mark must be in massage work! It was a religious experience, really, having those tiny hooves press as hard as they could against her backside.

Even with the iodine to slick up her body, she was still mostly stuck. “Try pushing a bit harder!” Methdancer called out. She moaned a bit as the filly pushed her little body up against her ass, trying her best to squeeze her through the alley.

Methdancer did her best, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself. Mares are normally able to control their vaginal muscles completely (it’s how they stay so tight), but with all this stimulation from the filly with heavenly hooves, her loose vagoo opened up to its maximum size. This caught the filly completely off guard, and she slipped from the sudden change in Methdancer’s rump. The poor filly became victim of gravity, and fell into the slicked depths of Methdancer’s vagina.

“Ooooooooooooh yes...” Methdancer moaned as the unbirthing commenced. Normally, this would be fucking painful, but for someone as loose and hopped up on drugs as Methdancer, this was at the hight of orgasmic pleasure.

The filly’s body entering hers was just enough of a push Methdancer needed to fly through the alleyway. Her body soared like an escaped falcon towards the ground on the other side. The poor filly as now trapped in Methdancer’s uterus, slowly choking as the air was forced out of her by the muscles of the meth mare.

The flight was not destined to last forever though, and Methdancer landed on her stomach with a loud thud. The filly was then shot out by the pressure exerted on Methdancer’s baby cavity. All manners of slick meth ingredients and natural vaginal lubes allowed the exit from Methdancer’s foal garden to be faster than usual. In fact, as the filly was birthed out, she shot high into the air, reaching terminal velocity.

The filly flew through the air in a graceful arc, hoping to slip the surly bonds of earth to achieve orbit around the magnificent planet of Equis. Sadly, this was not the case, and she landed smack on her face right in front of Jerome.

“Hot damn! A fresh filly!” Jerome picked the little foal up by her mane with his mouth, and dragged her off to the meth chambers, where all new whores were inaugurated.

Methdancer had no time to concern herself with such trivial matters, and instead went to the courtyard to be a good little whore and await for the scuzzy stallions (and mares) of Canterlot to show up. And maybe, just maybe, one would pick her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Little Pickle stared at Methdancer. Methdancer stared back at him. The gaze of the two went unbroken for two whole minutes until Methdancer spasmed and smacked Pickle right in the muzzle.

“OW!” Blood began to pour from both nostrils of the nervous colt.

“Sorry sweetheart, meth makes you a bit twitchy,” Methdancer explained. Looking at the colt for a few more moments, she slid up close to his face and began to lick the blood from his nose.

Little Pickle sighed a content smile. Her breath smelled minty fresh, just perfect for him. He knew he had made the right choice of whore with this one.

“So, um...” he stuttered. “How are we gonna do this?”

“Anyway you want, sweetie,” Methdancer said with a hack and a cough.

“Well, do I just put it in, or—” Little Pickle looked at Methdancer for help. Methdancer sighed a resigned sigh.

“I always get the retarded ones...”

Pickle frowned indignantly. “I’m twelve, not retarded!”

“Whatever,” Methdancer said off-handishly. The whore sat down, spreading her legs to display her pussy for the colt. “Okay. All you have to do is stick your dick in here. Is that so hard?”

“I actually just asked if that’s how I was supposed to do that—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Methdancer grabbed her client and pulled him into a bear hug, grinding herself against his crotch. Little Pickle wasn’t all that excited by mares, but this stimulation was enough for his Sergeant Johnson to man the battle stations.

Methdancer pushed him off her roughly, causing him to land painfully on his small balls. She spread her pussy open for him, inviting him in. Thankfully, she was able to control her muscles this time, so a repeat of earlier wouldn’t happen.

Little Pickle was at full shaft now, a proud four inches. Methdancer had seen bigger in her time, especially when that dragon has shown up, but she was used to tiny wangs. After all, when a stallion needed to go to whore, usually it meant that his small penis wasn’t cutting it elsewhere. In addition, sometimes Jerome felt the need to fuck some of his whores, which goes against the sacred pimp code, but his small penis wasn’t cutting it elsewhere, so...

Little Pickle was pretty scared. Like any twelve year-old unsure of his sexuality, vaginas looked fucking terrifying. But he needed to prove to his dad that he wasn’t a homo, so he went ahead and plunged right in.

“OW, YOU LITTLE FUCK!” Methdancer shoved Pickle out of her and onto the ground, where she punched his a few times, and kicked him in his already sore balls.

“W-what did I do?” Little Pickle was now at the maximum level of terrified one could reach without buying the expansion pack.

“You put it in the wrong whole!” Methdancer spat on him. “How did you even manage that? I spread for you and everything! You’re suppose to put it in the GAPING HOLE you moron!” The whore sighed agitatedly. “And you said you weren’t retarded...”

Little Pickle sucked back a tear, which only served to bring more tears, because sucking tears back into your tear ducts fucking hurts. He crawled over to Methdancer, and put his head in her lap. He was on the verge of crying, but his father had beaten almost all of his emotions out of him, thankfully, so that little wimp wasn’t gonna go full pussy on us and start cry everywhere.

Methdancer looked down at the emotionally stunted foal in pity. “Look, I’m sorry. Just... try and get it in the right hole this time, alright?”

The colt nodded, and he took his still throbbing cock in one of his hooves. Very carefully, and very precisely, he put it into Methdancer’s frequently used snatch.

“There you go!” Methdancer brought the unvirgined foal into another bear hug. “I’m gonna take care of the thrusting on this one though, because knowing you, you’d probably just flop back out and end up getting it in the wrong hole again."

Little Pickle nodded, and let the whore move her hips and related body regions over his own. The stimulation was rather exciting, but the foal felt that if it had been that large zebra who had brought him in rather than Methdancer, it would be even more enticing. Pickle let his mind wander, and envisioned the large zebra’s meaty cock tearing his asshole asunder. He shivered in pleasure, and his mouth lolled open.

Methdancer herself wasn’t too excited by the sex, but it was better than Jerome at any rate. She might not have to fake an orgasm this time!

Little Pickle, meanwhile, continued his extremely homosexual fantasy. He could almost feel the warm giant log of a cock pressing up against his small anus. The large dick would shove itself up inside him, ripping the virgin flesh, causing irreparable damage to his lower digestive track. It was just so sexy!

Methdancer flopped down on her back, her lower body moving upward as she did so. This took the foal she was buggering up in a seesaw-like fashion. This snapped Little Pickle back into reality for a moment, and he once again found himself gazing into Methdancer’s giant haunting meth addict’s eyes.

Little Pickle was at a crossroads here. He obviously loved penis in his butt, but every time he looked into Methdancer’s beautiful, empty eyes, he felt strange feelings. He was feeling feely feels that felt feely. He was torn between pursuing his conquest of thick zebra cock and romantic feelings for a meth whore.

In the meantime, he had some unfinished business. Going against Methdancer’s wishes, he stood on his back legs, and began to thrust into her. They were now in the missionary position, the most elite of sex positions. He was going to get his first chance at sex done right.

Little Pickle couldn’t last forever though, and he began to feel the pressure that accompanied squeezing sperm from his small sausage. He grunted a few time as he picked up his pace with his thrusts, furrowing his brow and stuck his tongue out as he worked furiously on fucking.

Methdancer was pleasantly surprised by this. The kid was able to keep his penis inside her pussy when he took charge, and she was even getting into the act herself too. She bucked up against his thrust, which didn’t really work too well since she was laying on her back.

“OW!” Little Pickle screeched. “YOU BENT IT!”

Methdancer chuckled weakly. “Eh... sorry kid.”

Fortunately for both of them, it seem as though pain just served to make Little Pickle more aroused. He thrust better, faster, stronger, harder into Methdancer’s abused pony pussy, desperately trying to bring himself to orgasm.

When he finally did, it was glorious. His balls gurgled, and the rusty machine of his genitals worked feverishly to push the semen out of his penis. He shoved himself into Methdancer one more time, and the potential pony past spurt deep into the reproductive works of Methdancer. He managed to get three full squirts before giving out.

The tired foal flopped out of the whore, and lay on his back. He looked over at Methdancer, who had already lit herself up a cigarette. “H-how did I do?”

“You’re not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Better then SOME ponies, anyway,” Methdancer shot a glance over at Jerome, who was furiously attempting to get his tiny penis inside the new foal they had just acquired.

“Are you gonna... have a foal, or anything?”

Methdancer chuckled darkly. “No need to worry about that, sweetheart. My eggs have been fried since age eight when I started doing meth.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.” Little Pickle wasn’t quite sure what happened next, so he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “So... what now?”

Methdancer cocked a plucked eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘what now?’”

“Well, should I just... leave?”

“Well, you gotta pay first, honey. This ain’t a charity case.”

Little Pickle froze. “Oh no... my dad didn’t give me any money!”

Methdancer’s eyes widened. “Fuck kid... Jerome’s gonna kill you!”

At hearing his name, Jerome stopped his fruitless attempts at sodomizing the filly, and looked over. “Who do I gotta kill?”

“Run, kid!” Methdancer shoved Little Pickle to his feet, and the foal scampered as fast as he could towards the exit. However, Jerome used his superior zebra legs to run ahead of the poor foal and block his exit.

“Nigga, you screwed.” Jerome grinned down at the foal. Pickle squaked, and took a page from the defense book of the mighty armadillo: he curled up into a ball on the ground and hoped that Jerome would just go away.

Predictably, this didn’t work, and Jerome raised a gold plated pimp hoof. Right before he was about to bring it down on the poor foal’s head and crush it like an overripe watermelon, the zebra was shoved to the ground by Methdancer.

“Get the hell out of here, kid!” Methdancer yelled as Jerome recovered from the body slam.

“Dammit slut, I’ma teach you your place!” Jerome charged down Methdancer, smashing her frail frame to the ground. She tried to fight back, but all the meth had made her weak. She was faced with certain doom.

Little Pickle wasn’t going to stand by and let his beloved die right in front of his eyes, though. He uncurled, and dove right for Jerome’s privates. Fortunately, they were just small enough to all fit in his mouth at the same time. He bit down hard, and with a might tug, he ripped them off.

“AAAAAAAAAH!” Jerome yodeled as he baby maker was separated from his body. He fell to the ground, twitching as he bled out on the ground before Little Pickle.

“Kid, you...” Methdancer looked down at the dying pimp. “You killed him!”

Little Pickle spit out the disembodied genitals, and smiled. “Well, he was gonna kill you. I had to do something, right?”

All of the other frightened whore started crawling out of their respective holes. “Is he dead?” One of them asked hopefully. “Really and truly?”

Jerome opened his mouth as if to curse one last time, but expired before he could. As he died, all the whores felt the magical bond that had tied them to him disappear. They were free at last!

All of the whores began to dance and sing in their whorish ways, chanting the songs of Lil’ Mayne and twerking about. Methdancer bent down to Jerome’s dead body, unclipped the king’s cloak. “I think you could use this now, kid.”

Little Pickle wrapped it around his back, and smiled. He turned to Methdancer and offered a hoof to her. “Shall we go, m’lady?”

Methdancer giggled whorishly as she accepted it. The two skipped off, and lived a happy life together ruling the former whores of Jerome, until Methdancer cheated on Little Pickle with a slice of pizza.

The end.